Simplicity
by Paintastics
Summary: Something has triggered an emotional breakdown in Holmes. Watson, unfortunately, is the only one there to endure the turmoil and must do whatever it takes to get his friend back on his feet.


"These accommodations will not due, Watson!" Sherlock Holmes sat, seething, next to me in our cab. Though the ride was rough, and the inn still some ways off, I couldn't help but smile at his misplaced anger.

"Holmes, it's only for a few nights." I chuckled. "We'll be back at Baker Street by the week's end."

"That does not help with the current situation. There is a reason I only book one room for us on our occasional out-of-town cases, Watson, and I assure you, this is the last time I accept previous arrangements. Especially from the moronic men of the local police force."

"Surly it's not so bad. I'm only a few rooms down from your own." I offered.

"Hah!" he barked. "And to whom am I to discuss the case with, should something come to me in the early hours?"

I hesitated a bit before answering, as I realized he was beginning to direct his anger towards _me_ instead of the rooms in which he was so discontented. "It's never stopped you from intruding upon my rooms in Baker Street. I fail to see the difference."

"My dear fellow, it makes all the difference! I feel much more secure knowing you are right there, next to me. What is the purpose, I ask you? As you have said, we are only here for a few days, hardly carrying any luggage, two men of simple needs-- there is no reason to have two separate rooms. It's unpractical. Besides, it's bad enough you've got to hold onto my key." I laughed at this.

"Well, since you are rather busy with the case and all it's components, I was more than happy to hold your key, least you should drop it."

"I am not so imprudent, Doctor. And what, pray tell, is so funny? You know I have reasons for everything that I do."

He now stared at me through accusatory eyes. "Indeed? I agree that sharing a room makes more sense, but really Holmes, you're fuming over this. What is the matter?"

He stared across at me, those inquisitive gray eyes studying my own. After a few moments, however, his glaring expression eased.

"The case isn't the only reason, Watson." his voice had softened briefly before reverting to it's usual coolness. "Should danger come seeking us in the night, it's a great assurance to me knowing you are there, as am I, to ward it off. We are out of our hunting grounds here," he leaned back in his seat, pulling his coat tighter round himself. "the game has changed quite a bit."

"The game! Have any new clues developed?" I asked, the case once again seising my full attention.

Holmes let out an impatient sigh. "Nothing to affect the case we've come to solve, my dear fellow, rather, an interesting note I found slipped under my door this morning."

"A note? Well... what did it say?" I asked, curious about any and all oddities in a case.

He looked at me through half-lidded eyes, his mind apparently miles else where.

"Nothing to worry yourself about, Watson. It is completely irrelevant, as I fear it was rather misplaced under my door."

"You mean it was meant for someone else."

"I mean just that. This poor town isn't very well to do; I doubt it's massagers are any better. For this reason, I always look forward to the more reliable and yet predictable streets of London." We sat in silence for the rest of the trip. Holmes closed his eyes, and quietly began humming an unrecognizable tune.

We quickly disembarked the cab as we reached the hotel, but not before I had to pull Holmes out of his somewhat distant trance. He hadn't even noticed our arrival. Stepping onto the street, my foot inadvertently splashed into a pile of slush. I uttered my favorite curse in such situations, when I felt Holmes nudge my elbow. I turned my attention to him, meeting his gaze full-on. His expression was quite drawn as I could see that the trance hadn't fully been lifted. He blinked back to the present and simply nodded his head at me, then moved to stand and wait at the entrance.

I suppose I was paying the cabbie to-night.

I bade the manager good evening as we stepped in, Holmes sluggishly following in my foot steps. I must admit that my friend had been having rather disturbing mood swings all day. Of course he had been his usual self when investigating the case and gathering information, but I could see that there had been more to tell than he was letting on. I often looked over to my friend only to find him so enthralled with whatever grim thoughts, for his eyes did convey as much, that despite my efforts, I couldn't get that familiar and much loved glint back in his eyes.

We were starting up the stairwell when Holmes' dreary mood suddenly swung in the opposite direction.

It was much of an improvement.

"Really, Watson!" He shouted rather unexpectedly at me. I choked back a bit at this sudden surge of volume before turning to meet his glare.

Never before had I seen him so angry! So much so, that I myself felt a hot wave of emotion sweep through me at the unprovoked urgency of it all.

"And what is this!" I snapped back, staring at him.

His eyes flared as though just the sight of me could inflict so much indignation. However, I did not waiver; living with the man for these past few years somewhat prepared me for situations and violent spells such as this.

"You cannot see? Does my dear Watson need me to explain this, too?"

"What are you talking about, Holmes? I don't-"

"Understand? Of course not! You never understand least I explain it all to you step-by-step. Surely you are not _so_ incapable."

"Now see here!" I started. "We are miles away from town, I have done nothing to provoke such childish behavior out of you, and really! the night has just been too long for this!" I was beside myself in both rage and confusion.

"Really, Watson, I applaud your skills in reasoning. How long did it take you to discover we were no longer in London?" He asked, mockingly.

I was about to retort something to my defense, but decided that Holmes was just on a bad spell. "It is late, Holmes. You are not yourself to-night."

He scoffed at my obstinance. "And you wonder why it is me who leads this partnership. God help us if you were in charge of things! Especially with your plodding mind and deductions."

I take it back. All those years of fortification meant nothing in this moment. My jaw tightened and my fist clenched till I could feel the nails digging through my gloves.

"Holmes, you egotistical bastard, where do think you'd be right now if not for me? I've landed you a good deal of your cases, and your practice wouldn't been nearly as lucrative without my writings!"

"Oh, pshaw! You follow me around like woeful puppy, while your writings have done nothing but expose my methods. Now people go round thinking they understand the art of deductions, when really, their's is about as developed as yours!" I couldn't keep up much longer as my confidence had faltered greatly at this last statement. I had always prided myself on being able to adapt and apply Holmes' ingenious methods, especially during cases. To hear all this coming from his own lips... it was painful! So hurt was I by this sudden angry attack, my posture sagged and I instantly broke our heated gaze.

Upon seeing my hurt expression, Holmes' own softened. It was a few suspended moments before I met his eyes again. "What do you mean by that, Holmes?" I asked slowly, staring at him with pleading eyes.

He flushed instantly, the embarrassment clear upon his face. Sherlock Holmes looked away from me, plunging his hands deep within his trouser pockets and inhaling a shaky breath. "I stand by what I said, Watson." he responded weakly.

Another bout of shame and anger began to rise within me, but I suppressed it. There's no arguing against so insufferable a man.

"I am sorry, Holmes, if my presence brings you so much trouble. I had assumed that you letting me tag along was a sign of my importance and our friendship. Forgive me. I was wrong to think otherwise."

"Watson!" His eyes shot up, regarding me with a pained look like that of a child upon discovering a broken toy. "I did not mean... I'm sorry," he breathed as I pushed past him.

"It's nothing, really. The case is trying; I understand." I uttered, feeling deflated.

He shook his head at this. "I've already solved the case, Watson." he said, rather tiredly. "It was pieced together on the train over. The wife was an accomplice of the murderer; who, though rather short with a recently sprained left wrist, had an incredible skill for improv fighting and was able to drop our victim." He paused, giving me a fixed look before forcing himself to continue, "He was fortunate enough to leave his cigar behind for me to find, however, and that was what pinned our supposed busboy as Castillo's murderer. It's not yet done, as a bit more evidence is needed before our confrontation, but the case is practically complete."

I nearly shouted my astonishment, but stopped myself after remembering that Holmes wasn't trying to baffle me in this instance. He must have seen the imminent exclamation anyway, as his mouth twitched into a grave half-smile.

I did not congratulate him. He did not continue. We walked down the hall in complete silence.

Upon arriving in front Holmes' room, I slipped my hand into my pocket to retrieve the key. My friend stood silently at my side, watching as I struggled with the difficult lock. My temper already short, I ended up ramming the door with my good shoulder, though in return, the door was reluctant to give me back the key.

Once the achievement of reclaiming it was mine, I looked at the key in my hand and considered just giving it to Holmes. But in the end I decided against it, as I am sure it would suggest a stagger in our trust for each other. Not something I usually had to concern myself with, but right then I wasn't to confident.

Pocketing the small piece of metal, I swept my hand towards the room. I decided to put the previous scene behind me.

"Here you are, Holmes. If you wish to find me, I'm only a few doors down." I offered a smile, but it went unreceived.

"Yes, thank you." He replied softly.

I nodded at his response and turned to leave, when I felt his hand suddenly steal into my own. At first, it was hesitant, but very gently, he soon had our fingers intertwined. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Please don't leave me, Watson. I can't... I need you," his voice trembled. "Please don't go."

I have never seen nor heard my friend sound as vulnerable as he did in that moment. His free hand was absently plucking at the hem of his coat as he stared at me waiting for a response. What was I to say? Was I to tell him that my feelings were the same? That I needed him as much as he appeared to need me? Do I call him a hypocrite? I settled on the former.

With my free hand, I covered his own and spoke softly to him. While doing so, he leaned forward as I allowed his head to rest on my shoulder.

When I said my part, I could feel his smile against my collar. "Stay with me in my room to-night." said he, face buried in the crook of my neck.

I nodded. "Alright, then."

With this, he smiled and disappeared behind the old hotel door, me following right behind him.

As soon as the door closed behind me, Holmes grabbed my wrist and began leading me away from the door. His fingers were cold and shivering slightly, the sweat making our hands clammy. It made me wonder what had my friend so shaken as to set off his nerves and to cause him to be so desperate for my physical condolence. I looked down at our joined hands.

"My dear fellow, what has happened to you? You are acting so unlike your usual self."

"Perhaps later, Watson, but for now... let me just say, I am very sincerely sorry. If you wish to leave..." His eyes fell at this last part.

I sighed inwardly. "I'm here with you now, aren't I?" He looked deeply in thought at this.

"I suppose you are, though I cannot fathom why. I would not have forgiven me, had such crass behavior been thrown in my direction."

"Would you have forgiven me, had I been the crass one?"

"I wouldn't hesitate!" he said instantly. "I know that you are my friend, and that you wouldn't mean any-" He stopped himself mid-sentance, lips pressing into a hard line as he understood.

I smiled.

Releasing his hand, I began to walk over to the nearby sofa to put down my medical bag.

"You're sure you won't tell me what's got your nerves agitated? If not as a friend, then as your doctor?"

Holmes brushed off my offer of medical assistance with a grimace.

"A doctor is the last thing I need. Please, Watson, give me time to collect my thoughts."

Not looking to push my friend over the mental edge yet again, I didn't argue the case. For this he was grateful, and stood back to observe something incredibly interesting on the wall behind me. The awkwardness settling upon us in our silence. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was well past midnight, and that I should like to retire to bed before getting pulled into an all-nighter. Holmes must have seen me glimpse the time.

"Where will you be sleeping?" He asked, rather nonchalantly.

I looked round the room at the limited furniture which filled the small space. Nothing more than a bed, the settee, what looked like a dresser, and a small table with a few chairs arranged by it. Holmes was right, we were not inclined to accept outside arrangements again. Both our eyes glanced over to the old settee which sat towards the middle of the room. Holmes gave it a most condemning look, as I had myself. It looked ancient, and telling by the faded and worn velvet, it didn't appear to have fallen in good hands. But really, I had bedded on worse. "Well, if you are willing to spare me an extra blanket and perhaps a pillow, the settee will do just fine."

Holmes didn't seem satisfied. I chose to ignore him as I made my way over to the object in question. I sat heavily upon the seat, sinking into the cushions as a cloud of agitated debris floated into the air. I blinked away the dust in my eyes, and turned to Holmes. His face looked troubled.

"Actually," he started, choosing his words carefully. "I wonder, Watson, if you wouldn't sleep with me in my own bed?"

I all but scoffed at this. "Huh! Not that I'm adverse to sharing a bed with you, Holmes, but I really don't mind taking the sofa." I expected him to meet me with a half-hearted smile, but instead found myself taken aback as I stared at eyes which appeared at the brink of tears!

"Holmes!" I cried. Those clear, grey eyes framed in moisture as they stared helplessly in my direction. His lips visibly quivered before he abruptly turned away from me. Holmes had covered his face with his hand while the other pressed hard against the wall; shoulders shaking as a sharp sob escaped his lips. I am at his side in an instant.

Gently, I placed my hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the wall. I was surprised at how dry his eyes really were, and yet I knew by the quaver in his voice that he was practically weeping.

"This is hardly the time to... I'm sorry, Watson-" his voice broke at the utterance of my name.

To hell with his pride. I gathered him in my arms and held his head against my shoulder. His arms instantly rose to grip mine, before sliding to my back and clinging to me. I could feel every bone in his back, every heavy breath he took, and I could feel the heat of escaped tears upon my shirt. He started shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to see me during a breakdown such as this."

"Don't be silly, Holmes. You need me now more than ever." I tried rubbing his back to comfort him, he only clung tighter.

"That's what I'm afraid of," his words were brittle, and it was all I could do to hear them.

"I would do anything for you." I whispered back.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"You would do so for me."

"I would."

"Then allow yourself my help."

"I cannot..."

"Please."

"Watson."

"Please, Holmes."

"I can't... my God, Watson, I am so lost! You are all that leads me through this damnable darkness towards sweeter waters. But I fear that I am about to lose you."

"I have already told you, I'm going no where without you."

He was silent for a moment, allowing himself simply to be held.

"I will stay with you tonight, Holmes, directly by your side if that is what you wish."

"For that and so much more, Watson*." Our eyes met momentarily before Holmes broke away and sunk upon the bed. At this point, I was at a loss as to what I should do next. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, I settled on removing my boots. Holmes made room for me as I swung my legs up, laced my fingers together upon my chest, fell back, and stared at the ceiling. It really was a nice ceiling.

Silence had once again consumed us as we sat, not knowing what to say to the other. I could feel Holmes' gaze on me, but I knew that his mine did not always follow his eyes. It's a good thing, I hope, to have his mind wonder away from whatever depressing thing had sent him into this black mood. I conclude that it cannot be the case, as Holmes has already solved it. But then what? Perhaps I had done something? Had I been cause of the few missing clues? Impossible. That would never warrant this behavior from my friend. I could only hope it wasn't the cocaine singing it's terrible songs into his ears and filling his brain with superfluous nonsense.

My mind didn't have the chance to dwell on it, as I was soon interrupted by a much lighter voice of Holmes'. "You are endearing, Watson." said he, looking down at me. I flushed with pleasure at this, as praise of any sort from Holmes was enough to melt my composure. Even now, as our situation was much heavier than ever before in all our years of knowing each other. I turned to look at him, smiling like an idiot. He, too, smiled at this. Obviously the prospect of him still being able to do this to me was a relief on his part.

"I am glad to be the one break your rule of emotional attachment." said I.

My companion nodded at this before slowly lowering himself down next to me. Laying on his side, resting his head on his arms.

"You are the only person, Watson, whom I have ever truly loved. I couldn't even say the same about brother Mycroft without feeling as if the words... well, simply that; just words."

A serene look overtook the previously worried one on my friends face. I have no regret in stating that Holmes' confession warmed me greatly. That he was the machine to everyone else, and yet the loving friend to me, this moment made up for all those cold and dreary ones of our past. I looked back at my friend, heart warmed and eyes filled with love, that honestly... I didn't know with what words to respond!

So I whispered as a mother would to her worried child, "I love you, Holmes." His lips parted in what I believe was the most beautifully genuine smile I have ever seen from him. For an instant, his eyes seemed to sparkle as the dreary mood melted away. Alas, as it was only for an instant that I would glimpse that wonderful blink of relief. He rolled onto his stomach and put his chin on his folded arms. I could still see remnants of that smile.

"You've no idea what that means to me. I may not show it... but that my most beloved friend could forgive all that I put him through to still say those words..." he trailed off for a brief moment. I wanted to say anything which would encourage this train of thought, but decided it was best to let him lead. "Dear Watson, I know that when you say something, you mean it with your whole heart behind it. Though you may not know the gravity of my words, I know the gravity of yours."

"Then explain it to me."

"I'm not sure what to explain. I've never been a creature of love before, so I cannot begin to deduce what it all means."

"There's nothing to deduce." I rolled so I was facing Holmes; he mirrored my move until we were face-to-face.

"I cannot say I love you as a brother, as love does not exactly exist between my own real one. My associates do not love me, they love the work that I do for them. I also can't tell if I am in love with you, or simply in love with your presence. This is a new thing... one which, like all others, I should wish to understand it to it's fullest. Could you tell me, Watson, what it is that escapes me?"

I didn't say anything. Instead, I scooted closer and brought my arm around him as he easily slid closer and shared the embrace.

"I really am sorry," he muttered into the crook of my shoulder.

"For what?" I shifted so both my arms were around him as he snuggled against me.

"For the position I have placed you in. It seems strange, and yet I cannot figure out why."

My thumb absently rubbed circles on his back, as I thought of what to tell him. I figured a change in subject would be welcomed.

"That note, from earlier to-day... that is what's got you worried?"

"It is."

"I take it, it has nothing to do with the case."

"Nothing at all."

"Then it was slid under your door for you to read."

"Not for me, Watson... but for you."

"For me?"

"Quite so." he whispered softly. I could hear the emotion underlaying his words again.

"What did it say?"

His gaze strayed beyond me for a few moments before he took in a breath. "Oh Watson, that you can stay with me through my ravings, then my heated agitation, as well as this quite emotional relapse of mine, it really is a frustrating thing for you to be forced to comply with."

"Ah... it's nothing, Holmes. But the note, what did it say?"

His fingers played with the back collar of my waistcoat as I looked at him expectantly. It didn't look like I'd be getting an answer. I took my hand and smoothed the hair from his face, stopping at his temple.

"You cannot say that you love me and yet withhold what could be dire information."

A warm hand covered my own. "Perhaps it would be best if you read it for yourself."

"Alright then, let me see it."

I could have laughed at how quickly he produced it without so much as sitting up. He held the note between his index and middle finger, pointing it at me. I took the envelope, noting how it was twisted and even appeared to have been bitten. I gave my friend a questioning look, which he ignored as he studied my expression. Holmes' arms remained around me as I shifted onto my back to read the paper. It was short, but was enough to send shivers down my spine. It read as follows:

"Doctor Watson-

Things need clearing up. The illness shall be purged and they will fly as intended. You shall not be one to stop them anymore.

PS: If you run to your master, expect it sooner than you thought."

The letter shook in my hand, as I only now let out a breath. Holmes had brought his arm beneath me and held me closely to his chest .

"What does this mean?" I asked under my breath.

"It means that my knowing you has signed your death warrant. These people know they cannot get to me, so they do the worse possible thing and target you." There was a pause, his heart thudding loudly within his chest. He inhaled a deep breath, and quietly asked, "Are you scared, Watson?" I blinked, trying to discover what I felt. Surly I should be feeling scared, or numb, or... or anything! But the fact was, now that it had settled, I was quite indifferent to the threat which I now took as empty. I mean to say, that Holmes being in the line of work that he is, and me following him on nearly every case, threatening notes and parcels were never taken seriously by either of us.

"Well to be honest... I'm not scared at all." I looked up at him, his face drowned in worry. "Are you scared, Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson. I am very scared. These people scare me more than anything else."

This wholly confused me. "Why are you worried? I've been threatened with death before. You and I always brush it off and go on about our day!"

"But this is something different entirely!" his voice rose with a desperation of a lunatic. I could tell that my companion had finally reached his limits. He continued in that odd raving,"I am scared, because I don't know these people. I have no idea where they're from, what we've done to harm them, or... Oh dear! I am without a clue as to what I should do! "

"Come now, Holmes... surly there is something to suggest who they are?"

"There is nothing. The paper is so completely ordinary, the ink one of commonplace, and the writing non-sugestive except that it is a man's. It's unlike my enemies, as most are to stupid to think of going for you instead of me. I-I am bewildered beyond my capabilities..." I said nothing. In the dark silence of the room, the winter's chill biting at our feet, not a sound could be heard save Holmes' labored breathing.

"I'm not scared." I repeated.

He now leant over me, clasping both hands on either side of my face. " I must ask you something. Answer me truthfully now, my dear. Do you trust me?"

"Holmes, you underestimate my loyalty--"

"Please, Watson, do you trust me?"

I hesitated, though not out of uncertainty. I was dumbfounded as to how and why Holmes convinced himself that I didn't trust him. We've been intimate friends for years now, he knew my moods as I knew his! And so what was this? I grabbed his hands off my face and held them in my own. "I trust you with my life... Sherlock." So rare is it that I use his Christian name, that it tingled rather oddly upon my lips. Holmes, however, acted none to extraordinarily.

"Then I swear to you, Watson, that I will find these men. I will find them, and stop them. And if they so much as singe a hair off your head, I'll have them begging for mercy as I soot each limb to lameness."

"Don't think for a moment that I'll be sitting safely at home while you're out there hunting these men. I intend to follow this through to the end." I warn.

"My dear Watson, I'd be concerned if you didn't. I already know that I won't be able to persuade you otherwise, so what am I to say?"

A smile crossed my features as I cleverly whisper into his ear, "The game is afoot."

Holmes regarded me with a confused expression at my quoting him, but he soon matched my expression and beamed wildly.

"Indeed! Then you and I shall run like madmen into the depths of London hunting for invisible men!"

"Wonderful!" I cry. "We'll see ourselves in Baker Street again in no time."

"One can hope..." my friends voice instantly resumed it's previously dreary tone.

"Holmes..." my heart sinks at the loss of our much needed mood-lift. Holmes shifts so that we are now shoulder to shoulder and his face invisible to my gaze. His tone frightened me.

"Come now, Watson, don't look so gloom! If I can beat brother Mycroft at a game of chess, surly there is no fear of my failing to win at this little game as well, eh?"

Now it is my turn to act doubtful. I prop myself up on one elbow and look directly down at Holmes. "My dear fellow, these mood swings of yours concern me immensely. You haven't...?"

His attentions were fully mine as I knew that he knew what I was implying. My companion exhibited a sad confession in his eyes before answering, "As much as I should like to employ it, I have unfortunately left my needle back at Baker Street. It's absence makes things infinitely worse, but I can manage for now. Don't look at me like that, Watson. I know of your distaste for my little vice, but it very well could be your savior."

"At the cost of damnation upon your very mind, I'm sure." I say with venom.

A part of me wishes that this night had never happened as I am unsure as to how it will change things. There are multiple times in which I wanted desperately to leave Holmes to himself in favor of my own less complicated rooms down the hall. But, as words have reviled on this night, I am glad I overlooked my personal wants and stayed as support to my beloved friend. My only hopes are that this changes nothing. I'd hate for Holmes to withdraw from me now that he's confessed so much. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to farfetched to think he will alienate himself more.

I continue to keep my gaze upon him, observing how his eyes stay focused on one spot in the darkness, hardly blinking, small facial twitches playing across his features. That is what fascinates me; no matter how hard I try, I can never fully guess at what runs through that brilliant mans mind. His lips are rapidly moving as noiseless words tumble out in continuous streams of nonsense. This continues to the point where I find it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open. I don't battle the sleep, the night has been trying on the both of us and rest would be much appreciated. I roll on my side, bringing my arms close to my body and finally letting my lids fall closed.

I am near sleep when I feel the shifts next to me. I think Holmes had figured that I'd fallen asleep, as he had mirrored my move and watched me, a hand gently coming up to brush back my hair.

In a soft whisper, he responds to my last statement, "If it must."

* * *

***I wish to inform you that no, Holmes wasn't horny and expecting some sexy-time with Watson when he said he "wished for that and so much more". I hope you can tell that he wanted some sort of emotional satisfaction or understanding.**

**And also, HUYKGHBN! It's so much fun writing the dialogue of them arguing and furious at each other! Unfortunately, however, the mooshy/fluffy/cheesy dialogue takes up most of this fic. Ah well, it makes the bickering and yelling that much more special, I suppose.**


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